Whiskey Smooth
by Juliet Knighly
Summary: Three years after the events of that ugly summer, Jordan Baker turns up on Nick Carraway's doorstep, bringing with her memories and feelings the author had tried to forget. (I shipped it so much and there is legit nothing on this site with them. So this was born.)


It was a voice I hadn't heard in three years. Smooth as whiskey, but with a mischievous lilt that made it easy to fall in love with. I'd done so the moment she'd first spoken to me.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to answer the door, to see the face that went with the voice. But in the end I got up and unlocked the bolt.

She was just as beautiful as I remembered. Her dark hair neat and short, her grey eyes bright. The luminescent glow of her pale skin was as alluring as ever.

Jordan Baker.

"Nick... I-I know I oughtn't be here, but... I've been missing you something terrible." She stuttered out, looking down at her feet.

I was unsure of what to make from that statement. Was I still in love with her? Absolutely. But my memories of her in New York had soured because of the summer's repulsing conclusion.

I invited her in and got out an extra teacup and saucer, then asked what her husband thought she was doing. She had been engaged when I left the city.

"Oh, him? He's not my husband anymore, Nicky. I divorced him a year after we were married. Caught him in bed with a blonde-headed tramp."

You wouldn't be able to tell from her voice, but I could see in her eyes that it had hurt.

"What brings you out here, then?" I questioned. I had moved back out west, to a peaceful house in Utah. It wasn't a trip one made just to say hello.

"Like I said, I've been missing you awfully. And New York has lost its glow for me."

So she'd come to get away.

"Where are you staying?" I asked, pouring her some more tea.

"I haven't found a place yet. I was just gonna swing around town, stop at a little bed and breakfast or something."

I knew exactly what she was doing. _She_ knew exactly what she was doing. But I didn't care.

"Jordan, you know how far away the nearest town is. Why don't you just ask to stay here and be done with it. I _do_ have an extra room." I said, chuckling. Her eyes lit up and I knew I'd guessed correctly.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to be a burden..." She lowered her eyes in that way of hers, and I felt the same heart-racing desire that I'd felt so often with her in New York.

I smiled. "It would be my pleasure, miss Baker."

She grinned up at me and accepted my offer, and I knew in that moment that we were hopelessly lost.

Jordan went to retrieve her belongings, and I went upstairs to put sheets on the spare bed.

See, after leaving New York, I had done pretty well for myself. I was able to buy a nice house for a low price and had pursued my writing career. It had gone very well, and my life was more than comfortable.

The room was sparsely furnished, with just a bed, dresser, and mirror, but it was clean and neat. In all honesty it was probably nicer than what she'd get in town, with the added bonus of not having to pay a fee.

I took her suitcase from her and led her up the stairs, showing her the room.

"I know it's not much, but you can add whatever personal touches you like, and-"

I was caught off guard by her sudden embrace. She wrapped her arms around me tightly and sighed, and I was barely coherent enough to return the gesture.

"I can't thank you enough, Nicky. This means the world to me." She whispered, and then it was my turn to sigh.

"Like I said, it's my pleasure."

We were so close as we stared into each other's eyes, and I wanted to kiss her so desperately that it hurt. But I stepped back and recovered my senses, setting her bag next to the dresser.

"I was gonna make broiled chicken for dinner. Is that okay with you?"

She laughed, the sound bringing back memories of summer, like a warm breeze on a cloudy day.

"I eat everything, Nick. With the cameras always on you, you have to learn to love everything."

I nodded, then left her to settle in while I started on supper.

She came down about an hour later, just as I was setting the table. She had changed into a more comfortable-looking dress, but the sight of her leaning against the doorframe still took my breath away. I struggled to find words as she strode into the dining room, taking the dinnerware from me and preparing the table herself. She walked into the kitchen and brought out the food as I poured two glasses of milk, then I pulled out her chair and we sat down.

After blessing the food, we ate in a comfortable silence, occasionally glancing at each other. Though I protested, she cleared the plates when we were finished, then suggested we take a little walk around.

We put on our coats and stepped out into the cool October evening. I showed her around my property, pointing out my favorite spots in the garden, stopping to feed the koi. And I felt whole for the first time since that summer. When I studied her closer, she looked content and happy. So I took a chance and reached for her hand.

She entwined her fingers with mine as we looked into the little fish pond, both of us sighing simultaneously. My mind was in a daze, but I thanked God as we walked back up to the house together, the light rain that began to fall not dampening my spirits in the least.

I didn't wait long before asking Jordan to marry me. Five months after she'd showed up at my door, we were in a little church saying our vows, the few friends we'd made sitting in the pews. I truly have never seen a more beautiful sight than Jordan on that day.

.  
My wife didn't _entirely_ give up golf, still occasionally going to some tournament or other. But as times got even harder, she began to despise the people she once strove so hard to impress. She didn't play for them, she played for herself, she told me often. And I believed her.

.  
About a year and a half after we were married, we had a daughter that we named April Luanne. I'm glad to say that she looks much more like her mother than she does me, but she gets into the same mischief that I did when I was her age.

.  
I used to think that that summer with Gatsby was an ugly waste, that nothing good had come out of it. But I had met the missing piece of my soul, and if I had to... I would do it all over again.

~_fin~_


End file.
